Life feels empty,
Great stone corridors devoid of anything,
Depression, it seems, is quite trendy,
Deep in the tomb, burying.
Writing from an emotional place,
Sometimes forges the best art,
I wouldn’t know fine art if it hit me in the face,
How long are we to be apart?
How deep does despair go,
I don’t think I’ll even know,
Not so long as I’m falling, falling, falling,
The silence of the grave is a siren’s calling.
I once thought I had the key,
The key meant to set me free.
Ryan S. Kinsgrove
Follow along with my peculiar brand of insanity: https://upscri.be/5a20f7/
Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.
–Alfred Lord Tennyson
Or so renaissance poets say,
Claiming to not love is like a winter frost,
Their poets though, don’t they truly know the way,
Have you ever loved and lost?
I have, and it cuts me deep,
Like a knife slicing down to bone,
It left me piled up in a heap,
Lost, bleeding, and all alone.
Now I sit in my dark corner,
Trying to remember the feeling of life,
I cry like I’m a lost lonely mourner,
Wishing I could sing to my darling wife on a fife.
The horizon lies so far in the distance,
Does anyone truly rely on my existence?